When I started this story before, I only had a vague idea of where it was going. But then one of the characters that I thought would be minor pushed their way to the forefront and informed me this was their story, and I had to agree.
The only thing the story that will be unfolding week by week has in common with the flash piece that spawned is, there’s a pond in it and a murder that starts a serious chain of events. So once again I have re-written the beginning, but this time I have a better idea of where the story is going.
Deep in the heart of the wild taiga forest in northern Russia, was a cluster of huts forming a small village. Its name was forgotten because the inhabitants of the village wished it so. They were former serfs who escaped into the forest to avoid persecution because of their magic.
The Vasiliev family was strong in magic, their women sought after for their spells and healing, the men sought after for their power. They were not leaders in their community, though they could have been had they wished it so, but they were well respected.
When Olga Vasiliev found herself with child once more, there was great rejoicing in the family. She had already borne her husband Andrei six sons and this was the much anticipated seventh son of a seventh son, whose path was laid out while he was still in the womb.
When Olga’s time came, no less than three mid-wives attended to the birth. The entire clan gathered to witness the event. Olga strained in silence, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The mid-wives found it somewhat unnerving, but she had been silent for the births of her other children as well.
The labour was not long, and in a comparatively short time, those who had the privilege of waiting outside the birthing room heard the cry of a baby. At the sound, Andrei grinned broadly.
“Listen to him. My son! He will be both robust and powerful.” Unable to wait a second longer, Andrei pushed through the crowd and opened the door to the birthing room. Olga lay back in the bed, a faint smile on her face. The three mid-wives looked startled, and almost a little fearful at his entrance.
“Let me see him, my son,” Andrei demanded.
The mid-wives exchanged worried glances and the one who was holding the baby reluctantly passed the swaddled infant over. As Andrei gazed down fondly at the newborn, the midwives slipped from the room.
“Look at him, Olga. He meets my eye fearlessly. He will wield great power.”
“Look a little closer, my love,” Olga said tiredly.
Andrei looked at her with a frown. A niggle of doubt threaded through his mind. Gently he unwrapped the baby. He looked down at the perfect infant in his hands and then up at his wife.
“What treachery is this?” he demanded.
“No treachery,” Olga said, “But also not the son you assumed.”
To give him credit, Andrei did none of the things that filled his head. Instead, he laid the baby on the bed, then turned and stormed out of the room.
“Never fear, my love,” Olga cooed, gathering her daughter into her arms. “He will get his seventh son next time. You were all for me.”
Andrei tended to forget that he was not the only one with power. Olga came from a long line of witches as well, although they preferred not to flaunt their power. It had taken very little magic to ensure she conceived a daughter instead of another son.
Though she bore them, their sons belonged to Andrei. This, their daughter, would belong only to her.
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